Behind those azure eyes
by DarkGriffyn
Summary: Mitsui has reformed and let go of his dark past, but will the latter relinquish him so easily?


**Mitsui's point of view**

Hisashi Mitsui sank heavily down on his bed, toying with the unopened beer can grasped in one hand. He had to contend with his conscience for a few agonizing minutes- considering that the finals with Kainan were impending, Akagi had insisted on nothing short of top-notch fitness, and the most interesting beverage that his players were allowed to drink would be chocolate milk. Soda, orange juice, cocktails- in short, anything that tasted good in Mitsui's opinion, had been banned from the face of the earth.

Then again- he had showed up for practices regularly, had not broken Kogure's glasses thrice a week as he used to, had kept his eyes away from Haruko, hard as it was, and had not killed Sakuragi yet- a great feat on his part. He deserved a reward for his good behaviour. Sighing, Mitsui popped the tab and took a deep drink of the pale golden liquid. It had been a long time since he'd allowed the effervescent liquid to caress his throat. Since leaving Tetsuo and the gang, he had had to pass up his cigarettes and gambling habits. Those weren't exactly big losses as he always lost at bets anyway, but it was the freedom of a ruffian's lifestyle that Mitsui missed most. 

Pleased as he was to be back in basketball, it didn't change the fact that he was still under the wrathful gaze of the omniscient Akagi. And along with that came the conditions for him to remain in the Shohoku basketball team. Be back by nine each night, pass all his classes, no more reports of bullying or fighting or extortion, don't get into trouble, or if you do, don't let Coach Anzai find out about it at least.

Mitsui took another gulp of beer and promptly spat it out. Somehow, it didn't taste so great. Funny how nothing is ever as good as you imagine it to be, he thought sardonically. For all its bright packaging and high recommendations, this drink was simply a noxious mess of bitter alcohol, and it didn't particularly serve as an anagelsic for the pain that was steadily gnawing his insides. 

"What's the matter with me…'' he muttered, turning around to set his beer can on his bedside table, knocking his textbook under the bed as he did so. He half-intended to let it lie there and be buried under the mountain ranges of garbage he had accumulated over the years, but if he showed up for lessons with his book missing in action, he would have to copy the entire thing out all over again, which would take forever and more besides. 

Cursing under his breath- something Akagi had forbidden him to on penalty of literally washing his mouth out with the strongest cleaning agents available- Mitsui got down on his knees and poked his head into the small dark space under his bed. Cramped as it was, he searched quickly for his lost book, and after pushing ancient stuffed toys and fossilized specimens of stale food aside, he located it somewhere near the surface of the trash mountain. "There you are,'' he extricated the textbook carefully, only to find another dust-streaked object caught on it.

Mitsui drew in his breath with a sharp gasp- all of a sudden, he felt as if a dagger had been pierced into the most sensitive spot of his heart. He unhooked the wooden photo frame from his book cover and gently wiped years of grime away from the picture. He'd broken the glass covering years before in an attempt to destroy the precious memories of a childhood forever gone, but the photo was still as clear as it had been ten years ago.

Glancing down at the photograph on his lap, a young boy was sitting securely on his mother's lap as she was seated on the old rose-coloured sofa they used to have, his father's arms around them both. The boy was grinning as if he didn't have a care in the world, and he appeared effortlessly secure and protected in the sanctuary of his parent's arms. No more than three or four, he already had the seeds of a beauty he would soon blossom into- dark, silky hair so black that it had a midnight blue hue to it, effeminate, finely chiseled features and bright, perfect, piercing sky blue eyes. What made the child so beautiful, however, was how content he looked. How safe.

Mitsui stared down at his younger self, his mind drawing a blank. He felt a surge of repulsion and hatred sear him like a bolt of bitter lighting down his side, reopening a poorly healed, jagged wound that had festered with pus and unsolved issues through all the long years spent in exile. Collapsing backwards on his bed, he fought the chaos in his mind, trying his utmost to block out the relentless onslaught of memories. After struggling fruitlessly for minutes, the dam on his suppressed mind broke and he tumbled back headlong into the images and sounds of a long-forgotten past….

He was six years old, in the first grade and already one of the top students there, a position that made Okaa-san shower him with lavish gifts and unlimited affection, and Otou-san swell with pride when describing his son to admiring colleagues. Okaa-san and Otou- san had been quarelling a lot recently, and Otou- san had been leaving the country for extended periods of time, while Okaa-san cried alot- making the child cower in fear in his room with the pillows over his head, and he worked hard in the hope of making them smile and be pleased once again.

Today, he had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. It had been a long day, but his teachers had noted his good efforts and made their compliments known. Young Mitsui joyfully replayed the day in his mind as he skipped down the sun-dappled street to his home an avenue away. There would be so much to tell Okaa-san later on- him getting full marks for a difficult mathematics test, winning an award in art, getting recognition from the severe school principal himself!

He stepped into the extensive grounds of his father's vast estate and wound his way past the decorative gardens and majestic fountains. Pushing the mother-of-pearl inlaid screen door aside, he ran into the living room, yelling for his mother as he always did upon arriving home. This time, though, there was no answer, no welcoming hug or kiss. 

Mitsui paused on the first step of the marble spiral staircase. "Okaa-san?'' he called curiously, adjusting his green school bag and peering up at the landing of the second floor. There was no answer. Getting frustrated now, Mitsui marched upstairs and waited by an ornate antique vase as he called for his beloved mother again. No response came to him, save the echo of his own words against the wood paneled walls. Mitsui shook his head, maybe she was soaking in her bathtub, or sun tanning by the pool? He was about to go back downstairs when he realized how quiet it was. There was none of the classical music that he was accustomed to hearing every moment of day and night. He had heard none of the servants bustling about- there were no guests in the parlour, and even the crystal windchimes were silent. 

For unspeakable reasons, fear filled the young Mitsui's heart. "Okaa-san! Where are you?'' understanding that something was not right, Mitsui dropped his school things and dashed across the landing. She wasn't in his room, nor was she in the study, or the balconies, or the alcoves where they displayed artworks and priceless sculptures. Pausing in his mad flight, Mitsui ran to his parents' large suite in the west wing. The door was closed. 

"Okaa-san? You better not be changing clothes, I'm coming in!'' Mitsui shouted, as he turned the bronze doorknob and entered his mother and father's private sanctum. Ah, there she was, taking an afternoon nap. Mitsui walked up to the four-poster bed to wake her with his good news, wouldn't that be a great surprise?

Mitsui opened his mouth to speak- but the words never left him. Instead, he screamed.

His mother lay sprawled across the silk sheets, half-tangled in them. A half-filled glass of wine had been toppled over, spilling its contents all over the satin blankets. Another goblet of wine was still clutched in his mother's limp hand. Mitsui's mother's body was contorted in a convulsive manner, and she was lying in her own vomit. Blood had pooled around her, having streamed out from her mouth and nose and other body orifices. Her skin was mottled grey and her jaws hung slack and open, tongue lolling out, raw and inflamed, with chunks of flesh gouged out. Most terrifying of all, her blue eyes, so much like Mitsui's own, the same eyes that had always lit up with love for him- were glassy and staring at nothing, unblinking and bloody.

Mitsui screamed again and backed away, stumbling over his own feet and hitting his head on the ground. He jumped up and screamed once more, then threw himself on the bed and began shaking his mother. "Mama! Mama! Wake up!'' he dropped the formal title- Okaa- san, and flung his arms around his mother's lifeless body. "Mama! Wake up! Please wake up!'' 

His begging was in vain. Young Mitsui had not much recollection after his mother's suicide- an overdose of numerous toxic chemicals, the coroner had said. He dimly remembered his father coming in hours later when evening shadows had stretched across the room, and he recalled hands pulling him away, injecting something into his veins to get him to rest. He remembered tossing about with an extremely high fever, screaming deliriously for his mother all the while. He saw her, dressed in her silk white wedding dress in the marble coffin, eyes closed peacefully as if in sleep, and he recalled the overly warm black suit his father had made him wear for the funeral. He remembered how he'd vomited nonstop as he thrashed about on his bed, gravely ill from the shock and the trauma, and he remembered the darkness in his mind- he could make no sense of anything because his mind was consumed only by one word of denial- No, no, no! He could not even remember his own name then. All he knew was that his Okaa-san was dead and was never coming back.

It was after that that his father had started drinking the bitter, smelly liquid from big bottles. The large and intimidating man became a shadow of his former imposing self as he retreated into his room, never changing out of his pajamas as he worked his way through box after box of cigarettes and beer. Scared of the future and unbearably lonely, one night the young Mitsui had run out to find his father drinking once again and tried to tug the beer can away from his lips. All he recalled was the heavy blow to the side of his head from his father's fist. 

It was then, his temple streaming blood, that Mitsui looked at his Otou-san and realized that the man was dead inside. Gone were the impeccably trimmed hair and the well maintained complexion and powerful muscles. His father's eyes were bloodshot, his face unshaven for days, and he stank of the foul reek of beer and filth. 

His father had never once hit him before. All the touches from before had been filled with love and endearment.

Mitsui fled.

It was after that incident that his father began beating him. He didn't need a reason to- he just did, with anything available. Belts, whips, the dog's chain, pieces of furniture. His father neglected to put his meals on the table, or his allowance in his wallet, did not acknowledge at all that he had a son except for the times when he walloped him. Mitsui got used to the bruises all over his body, the cane marks, the wounds, in varying degrees of grievousness. No longer were there parties in his house, or visits to the seaside, or joyous gatherings with relatives and friends. His father stopped working. The gardens and grounds fell into a state of total disregard, and the servants were dismissed. Gone were the days of abundance- his clothing was not replaced and it became tattered and torn. His father never spoke to him or expressed any concern. Sometimes the child would come home to find the hulking man passed out on the floor.

Mitsui never forgot that. He never forgot having to bear the humiliation of his fall from grace. He never forgot the time his father made him drink detergents, tried to suffocate him, burned his arm on the stove, slashed his back with a decorative sword, broke his bones, tried to poison him, set the dogs on him. 

He stopped going to school, but when his truancy was exposed, there was even more hell to pay from his father. His grades suffered and he lost interest in studying, his friends abandoned him and his teachers scolded him on a daily basis. Weight dropped from his sturdy frame and his health deteriorated- his outgoing, extroverted personality transformed into one that was guarded and cold and embittered, and most of all, afraid. Every step he walked made him feel as if he was treading on ice that could break and fling him into the icy waters of the churning whirlpool in the pond below.

It was three years later, at the age of nine that he discovered basketball. Hiding behind some bushes after his dad had run him out of the house, Mitsui had learned, and began to practice on his own. What started off as mere interest became a passion, then a way of life. He lived and breathed in the atmosphere of basketball, his heart and soul begged for it- he needed to shoot baskets to survive. His skills improved tremendously with the hours of practice he put in, running up and down the court endlessly.

Everyone came to recognize him as the neighbourhood prodigy. But only Mitsui knew the truth- he was running and running, but he knew that he would never be able to hide.


End file.
